


Aftermath

by codswallop



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn Battle, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/pseuds/codswallop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John picks up the pieces, for the zillionteenth time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of a ficlet for [Porn Battle](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/57050.html)...which came out more h/c than porn. 
> 
> Contains non-graphic description of injuries and some bloodplay.

“Sorry,” Lestrade said, when John finished with Sherlock’s stitches and turned his attention to his second patient. “Really sorry. I don’t think there’s much, just the wrist, I’m almost certain it’s not broken this time, and the--ahh!” John began peeling the blood-soaked cloth of Lestrade’s shirt away from his back, and Lestrade had to bite his lip hard.

“I did Sherlock first so I might be slightly less furious by the time I started on you,” John informed him, beginning to swab at the abrasions with a damp flannel that was surely much colder than necessary. 

“Didn’t quite work out, then, did it?” Lestrade said, and hissed through bared teeth, wincing.

“I think it did, in fact.” Sherlock was watching with subdued interest from his perch on the edge of the bath. He touched his cheekbone gingerly, working his jaw. “He was much less gentle with me.”

Lestrade found this difficult to believe.

*

“What about you?” Sherlock asked John, when he’d done with Lestrade and all the cursing had stopped.

“Not a scratch,” John said, still looking rather white-lipped as he washed and dried his hands. “Some of us have the sense, you know, not to--no, you wouldn’t know, would you?”

“Luck and good reflexes,” Sherlock said. “It’s little to do with sense. Lestrade is slow and I’m incautious. Still, I think we’d better look you over, too,” he added, standing up and trapping John swiftly against the edge of the basin. “Just in case. Don’t you agree, Lestrade?”

Lestrade, nursing his strapped-up wrist and trying to decide whether to bother objecting to “slow,” glanced up to see how John would react. John looked...tired, he thought; the anger had all drained out of him. He sighed and tipped his chin up when Sherlock started in on his shirt buttons--whether in exasperation or acquiescence, it wasn’t clear.

“He definitely needs seeing to,” Lestrade said, pulling Sherlock off and nudging himself between them. He slid his good hand around the back of John’s neck, squeezing lightly. “Look at you. All over blood.”

“That's yours, you idiot,” John said. Lestrade gripped harder and leaned in to kiss him. John made his lips into a thin hard line, but it felt like a smirk was imminent. Lestrade set about trying to tease it to the surface.

“Or mine.” Sherlock went back to unbuttoning John's shirt. “God, yes, you're a wreck,” he added, dropping to his knees to finish the job, and licked at a dark red smear on John's stomach, tasting, thoughtful. “No, that’s Lestrade's."

Lestrade, still occupied with winning over John's mouth, swatted at him. “Bugger off. You can't possibly tell.”

“Can,” Sherlock insisted, craning round and applying his tongue to a long scratch down Lestrade's left side, making him shiver. “Yes, faint aftertaste of bad coffee, definitely yours.” 

John laughed, finally yielding. “You're repulsive,” he told Sherlock. “And mad. And a menace.” He said it fondly, though. 

Lestrade bit him on the ear. “What am I, then?”

“Also a menace.” John settled his hands very gently on Lestrade's sides and kissed him properly at last. 

Sherlock resumed his explorations, hands busy, tongue dipping lower. If John's hands tightened their grip after a bit, making Lestrade bite back a shout, it was all right, Lestrade decided. Probably no more than he deserved.


End file.
